


Metanoia

by ShannaraIsles



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Angst, F/M, Fire Magic, Flirting, Fluff, Friendship, Geez, In Hushed Whispers, Mild Angst, More Fluff, More tags will come, Prompt Fic, Self Confidence, September Writing Challenge 2018, Slow Dancing, Worse Angst, bad memories, i really need to cheer this woman up, look at that, uncommon words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-05 13:47:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 13,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15864852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShannaraIsles/pseuds/ShannaraIsles
Summary: Metanoia: (n.) the journey of changing one's mind, heart, self, or way of life.A September Writing Challenge, chronicling the journey of Talasa Adaar from the Storm Coast to wherever the Inquisition takes her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Scrosciare - the action of rain pouring down or of waves hitting rocks and cliffs

The Storm Coast. It was aptly named. 

Grey on white on green on black, peppered with rain, tempered with the roaring of the Waking Sea against rock and gravel. As cold and forlorn a place as any she had ever seen, and here was where her men had died.

When had she begun thinking of the Inquisition soldiers and scouts as _hers?_ Talasa couldn’t have said. She was not the Herald they named her, she was certain; nor was she anything special. Just an apostate mage, outcast from the people her parents had escaped and the people they had thought would allow them to make a home in peace. A mercenary, a leader of sorts ... and now a figurehead for a religion that had no place for her kind at its heart. 

And here, before her, there was laughter. The Iron Bull, the leader she had heard so much about from Shokrakar’s tales, looking her up and down and _laughing_. Perhaps not at _her_ , but at what she represented to the Inquisition that was forming around her. 

“The Chantry must _love_ you,” he boomed cheerfully. “A Qunari mercenary is the Herald of Andraste. Who’d’a thought?”

Talasa could feel herself shrinking before him, her eyes lingering enviously on the proud jut of his horns, unable to enjoy the novelty of looking _up_ at him as she had hoped she might. Because he was right, in all his implications. She was an outsider, a mage, the furthest thing the Chantry could possibly have wanted. Even a dwarf would have been more acceptable to them than her. 

A hand touched her back - Cassandra, seeing the shyness trying to take hold, the sense of not being worthy flaring in her chosen companion’s stance. Talasa made an effort to stand taller, if not as tall as others might have liked, meeting The Iron Bull’s eyes with as much defiance as she dared. 

“The Iron Bull, I assume?”

“That’s me,” he agreed, gesturing for her to come away from his men as they finished with the fight she had ended with fire. “What happened to your horns?”

Again, she felt a part of herself shrink. _Not good enough for the humans, not Qunari enough for this one_. She shook her head, moving to follow. 

“I don’t think my horns have anything to do with why I’m here, do they?” she asked, wishing her voice didn’t quaver. It had been a long time since she had been around a stranger who was Qunari ... a stranger who had another secret she doubted even Leliana had managed to ferret out. “Why does the Ben-Hassrath want you in the Inquisition?”

She felt a small tug of pride at the momentary glimmer of surprise in his one eye, at the reassessing look he gave not only her but her party as well. He nodded, rainwater dripping from his horns as he sat down. 

“The Breach has them concerned,” he told her easily. “Magic out of control like that needs to be stopped. Gotta know ... how did you know? I figure your redhead doesn’t, not yet.”

“Whatever else I am, I’m still one of the Valo-kas,” she reminded him, sure he must have known that already. “The Ben-Hassrath aren’t the only ones who gather important information.”

“The Ben-Hassrath want _you_ chained, Herald of Andraste,” he pointed out, raising a hand calmly as she automatically took a step back, fear flaring in her chest. “Easy. I’m not about to cripple the best chance of closing that thing in the sky just because others want order. A little chaos can be a good thing.”

“And when the Breach is sealed?”

Iron Bull considered her for a long moment. “I’ll give you a head-start, if it comes to it, Talasa Adaar.”

She flinched at the sound of her name on the lips of a spy for the Qun. But they needed the men, and the Bull’s Chargers were a sound company, well-known and well-respected. If she wanted the Inquisition to trust her, then perhaps it should begin here ... in trusting them to protect her, should this walking mountain of maleness be given orders to bring her in. She wasn’t Qunari; she wasn’t human; she wasn’t a part of any society Thedas chose to acknowledge. But perhaps she _could_ be more to the few that chose to call her their Herald. 

The storm raged, and the deal was made. Rain crashed down over shingle already wet with sea salt and slime; the roar of a dragon to be heard above the roar of the sea. The Storm Coast was aptly named. But as Shokrakar had often said, usually when she was deep in her cups ... from the heart of the storm comes the peaceful dawn.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aspectabund - letting emotion show easily through the face or eyes

“I’m here. I’ll protect you.”

Talasa felt herself bristle beneath the terror. Here, in this uncertain time that was dark and chaotic and a long way from home, this pampered Vint thought that _he_ was going to protect _her?_ After everything she’d already done, everything he’d seen her do, he thought she needed _him?_

Anger rose beneath the fear, threatening to take hold ... and then she looked more closely at her companion. 

Dorian _seemed_ calm, almost too calm, smiling a diffident smile clearly intended to put her at her ease. But there was tension there, rippling along his shoulders, stiffening his back, and there, in his eyes ... deep and abiding terror of his own. He knew no more than she did of where or when they were, of what they might have to face as they tried to find a way back. Hurt, too, colored his gaze; hurt that the man he had once looked up to had fallen so far and moved openly against him when he tried to do what was right in response. Fear and pain, and not all of it aimed against Alexius. No, Dorian was in an uncertain time with a Qunari - not only the traditional enemy of his people, but a mage; a mage who would have been bound and enslaved by her own people if she had been born among them. He knew nothing of the Vashoth, precious little more about the Qun, and now he had to rely on one who didn’t even know how the mark on her hand worked if he was going to get home. 

Compassion welled from her heart, overcoming the anger, moderating the fear. Yes, they were alone in a time and place they did not yet know anything of. Yes, they had little reason to trust one another. But there was _one_ thing she could do to help him. 

She reached out, closing a gentle hand over his shoulder, answering his smile with one of her own. 

“And I will protect _you_ ,” she promised him faithfully, knowing in that instant that she would risk her own life for his. That he would do the same for her.

The fear in his eyes flickered, dimmed, and Dorian’s smile became a little less forced as he straightened up.

“Marvelous,” he declared, glancing about the flooded dungeon. “Let’s find out where - and when - we are, shall we?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pyrrhic - won at too great a cost

By the light of day, it was painful to look upon.

The roof of the Chantry, smashed and broken, stood proud from the glistening white of the avalanche that had claimed Haven mere hours before. Wreckage was strewn across the crisp snow - wreckage and bodies, Talasa knew. Whatever else the red templars were, they were _alive_ , and she had ended them. Her hands, their lives, a decision made in desperation, hoping to save the innocent from the bloody death crowding in on them. 

Oh, she’d succeeded. The hidden valley below her was alive with people, men and women, humans, elves, dwarves, all of whom owed their lives to the fact that she had been so ready to die for them. But what of the men and women down there, she wondered. Who would have died for _them?_ How many families would never know what happened to them, buried beneath the snow on a frozen night, in the arse-end of nowhere?

She stood at the crest of the mountains, a dark shape against the bright sky, and sighed, hearing the sounds of argument from the valley behind her. Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana had been talking for hours, and it would seem they would talk for many hours more, unable to reach a decision even when Cassandra joined them. The leadership of the Inquisition was failing, right in front of the people who needed it to be strong. 

“Grub’s up.”

She tilted her head back toward the voice that spoke, a faint smile curving her mouth as Krem handed her a steaming cup of soup with a shrug. 

“Thank you.”

He stood beside her as she sipped at the hot liquid, looking out over the valley. That was one good thing about having The Iron Bull in their company - he had brought with him the Chargers, good mercenaries to a man, and with them had come Krem. She had never known anyone so good at gently leading from behind, rather than shouting from ahead. He was a perfect counterpoint to his Chief’s sometimes rough manner, and he knew it.

“Seems strange to think we were celebrating down there last night,” he said presently, shrugging as he rolled his shoulders, thumbs hooking into the back of his belt. “Shame to see it all beat up. But we won. Beat a dragon _and_ his darkspawn master.”

Talasa’s shoulders sagged, seeming to curl in on herself, the guilt for all the lives lost weighing heavily on her heart. 

“I don’t know if winning was worth the cost,” she murmured. “Can anything good come out of so much death?”

Silence reigned for a long moment - the silence of the living, of mountains and snow and people going about their duties far below. And finally, just as she was beginning to think she was right, that everyone _would_ blame her eventually for what she had done to save them, Krem spoke. 

“I dunno,” he said, almost cautiously. “ _You_ came out of it.”

She glanced at him sharply, surprised to find his eyes on her, looking at _her_ and not the Herald or the hero. He held her gaze for just a moment, then nodded, turning to crunch back down into the valley, back to the Chargers and his own meal. 

Talasa lifted her head, her own gaze rising to the clear sky above her. And, very slowly, a tiny smile lit up her face ... a smile and a blush, shy pleasure despite the darkness of the times. _I think he likes me_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rubatosis - the unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat

“... sure we have done the right thing? Talasa is not the leader we had hoped for.”

Without thinking, Talasa’s hand snapped out to prevent the door of Josephine’s office from banging closed, her ears sharpening to the sound of voices within the war room ahead. That door had been left slightly ajar, no doubt while they waited for her to join them, yet their voices drifted out to her, past the crumbling openness of the wall. 

“We cannot now turn around and take the position from her, Leliana,” Josephine was saying. “It has been witnessed by everyone currently here. The dispatches have been sent.”

“I am not suggesting we rescind the appointment,” the spymaster answered. “Merely pointing out that, by her very nature, the appointment of a Qunari mage as Inquisitor presents certain ... problems.”

Talasa’s heart thumped uncomfortably in her chest, the sound of blood racing to each beat a dull rush in her ears as she stilled where she stood. Leliana didn’t think she could do this. But ... Cassandra did, didn’t she? _She_ was the one who had given her the sword in front of all those people out there. Was everyone just waiting for her to fail, to prove them right that a Qunari could not be trusted to lead?

“With respect, I believe you do her a disservice by still judging her as a Qunari mage.” That was Cullen’s voice. “She is Talasa Adaar, our Inquisitor. You cannot cease seeing her as a person purely because of the title she holds.”

“Oh, as _you_ have ceased to see her as purely a mage?” Leliana countered, her voice mild but the implication stung.

Cullen’s spluttering was audible for a moment before Josephine interrupted them both. 

“We _all_ do her a disservice by discussing this at all,” the ambassador said firmly. “She is the Inquisitor. She saved _all_ our lives at the risk of her own. There is nothing here to discuss.”

The anxious thump of her heart calmed a little on hearing those words. Josephine, at least, saw her as a person and not a thing to be feared or hated. Talasa drew in a slow breath, reopening the door behind her to let it fall back and bang against the stone frame as she walked toward the war room. Let them worry. Maker knew, she worried enough herself. It was about time someone else joined her there.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trepverter - a witty response or comeback you think of only after it's too late to use

“Ugh, this is _boring_.”

Talasa glanced up at Sera, an apologetic smile already forming on her face. But before she could form the apology, the elf had already whipped a hand up in front of her nose and was waggling a finger at her. 

“Not you,” Sera informed her, then pointed down at the courtyard below them. “Watchin’ _that_. Are you _sure_ I can’t shoot him up the arse?”

The Qunari Inquisitor snorted quietly, another hint of a smile crossing her face at that thought. It was _very_ tempting, but ...

“I’m sure,” she said quietly. “I suppose I can’t really blame him. Everyone must be calling me a ... a ...”

_A barbarian ox with all the grace of a lame druffalo. And you put **this** in charge of the Inquisition!_

Josephine had been furious. Talasa didn’t think she had ever seen the ambassador quite so _angry_ with anyone. And it was just as well that _someone_ had been able to speak, because she certainly had not. The insult was all too familiar, the implication that she was not a person but a creature plain to understand and all too common among humans. Especially human nobility. But spoken here, in a place where she had grown accustomed to _not_ being seen as just another “ox-man”, the words had cut deep and fast, reopening old wounds that had never fully healed. Even now, as she thought about the primping noble and his nastiness, her hand strayed upward to the untidy tub of her horns. Insults and bigotry had done that, too. 

Beside her, Sera snorted again. “Like he knows what a lame druffalo looks like,” she scoffed. “You should’ve told him to stick it up his jumper.”

A part of Talasa wanted to curl up somewhere, gather that hurt and pain close to her heart and cherish it ... but that was why she was here with Sera, wasn’t it? She _didn’t_ want to wallow in the hurt; she wanted to be free of it, to find a better way to deal with it. Sera wouldn’t let her wallow. 

She lifted her head, making an effort. “Perhaps I should have told him not to speak so slightingly of his own wife,” she suggested in a soft tone.

Sera _roared_ with laughter, thumping down onto the seat beside her in a fit of giggles as she handed over a pilfered peach from the kitchen. 

“He’s Orlesian, he might have _actually_ married a druffalo for his land wank,” the Red Jenny agreed, tickled pink by this delightfully snarky side of the Inquisitor, hitherto unseen. “Next time one of them shoots his mouth, you should say that back to them. Josephine’ll cack her drawers!”

Talasa found herself giggling quietly, buoyed up not so much by the rough words but by the sheer sense of solidarity. All right, so she had missed her opportunity to insult the man in return, in the moment. But maybe next time, she’d be able to do it. That might even be fun.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiraeth - a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past

“Nice place now the dead are gone, huh?”

Talasa glanced over at Scout Harding, lifting her eyes from the drowned wreckage of Old Crestwood to the bustling sight of the living Crestwood, drying out under the new sun. It was such a familiar sight - achingly familiar, in a way that made her long for home; for her parents’ smiles and quiet laughter, her mother’s cooking, her father’s stories.

“I grew up in a place like this,” she said softly, wincing as she shifted. That dragon had thrown her clear through a crumbling stone wall. No amount of healing magic was going to take the aches away until she’d slept it off. 

“Where was that?” the dwarven scout asked, settling onto the broken stonework that provided them with seats for the time being. 

“Oh, I doubt you would have heard of it.” Talasa smiled. “Just a fishing village in the Free Marches, on a little island south of Hercinia. A nowhere-place, really. But it was home.”

“I didn’t know the Vashoth built villages in the Free Marches,” Harding answered, her voice filled with curiosity.

Talasa hesitated, the warm glow of memory cooling as other memories rose. “We don’t,” she said, her voice growing dull once more. “It was ... it was all humans, except for us. I never knew that elves or dwarves existed until I left.”

“To join the Valo-kas, right?”

“No, that was ... later.”

_“Harsh words, cruel eyes, you’re not welcome here. Ox-man, cow girl, goat’s breath - why don’t you fight back, cow girl? Too big, too strong, wouldn’t be fair to hurt them even when they hurt you. Friendship tested and failed, a forgotten bond when cruelty against the other goes too far. Are those real horns, cow girl? Let’s find out -”_

“Enough, Cole.”

She hadn’t known he was there, listening to the memories that rose in her mind as she watched Crestwood setting itself to rights. Yes, her home _had_ been like this place once; _home_ , with all its warmth and comfort, all the promise of forever in one small cottage. Before she had been old enough to understand the taunts the villagers threw at her parents and herself; before she had experienced firsthand the cruelty of people her own age determined to kill the fear before the fear killed them. 

“You didn’t mean to hurt them,” the boy said quietly. “Magic comes at need for the first time, not at will or wish. They were hurting you. The magic saved you.”

Talasa shook her head, her throat tightening as she remembered that day. Being thrown down by the village boys, knees pressing into her back, her neck, along her arms and legs, holding her down as they laughed and taunted. As the blacksmith’s boy drew a wood-axe from his belt, and they set to hacking away her horns, ignoring her tears, her fear, determined only to belittle and demean the big girl who never fought back, the child of monsters who had never raised a finger to hurt _them_. It had only been when they had finished, and the blacksmith’s boy had threatened to bury the axe in her face, that the magic had finally flared for the first time, her fear too much to hold back what should have happened years before. Fire had left her in a wild rush, and the boys screamed in agony, fleeing for their lives. 

“Inquisitor?”

She blinked, shocking back into the present at the sound of Harding’s worried voice. She looked down at the dwarf, forcing a smile for her benefit, watching as the smile she offered brought relief flooding into Harding’s face. 

“You were miles away there,” the scout commented. 

“Miles and years.” Talasa nodded in agreement. “That isn’t a place or time I like to think about, I’m afraid. Maybe it’s true what they say - you can never go back.”

“Well, you got a home now,” Harding told her stoutly. “The commander won’t ever forgive me if you don’t get back to Skyhold safe now you killed a dragon without warning.”

Talasa snorted with laughter. “Like he would _ever_ give me permission to attack a dragon, Lace.”

The dwarven scout grinned, rising to her feet. “Probably best he only hears about the after, then, huh?”

“Yes, let’s keep it between us.”

Talasa chuckled as Harding laughed and stepped away, returning to the main bulk of the camp. Her head turned back toward the village ... and the smile died. The memory wasn’t done yet.

“You made a mistake,” Cole whispered beside her. “So much death, so much pain, but it wasn’t all your fault.”

“No, Cole, it wasn’t a mistake,” she told him quietly. “I _meant_ to do it. I planned it for years. They killed my parents. I killed them.”

_“The island is silent now, no words, no smiles, no humans to bring it life. Just burns and bones and loss, screaming into the winds.”_

The Qunari Inquisitor’s face set in angry lines kept tightly in check. Even now, the memory of what that village had done was enough to bring fury to the fore, fury coupled with a guilt she would never be free of. She should never have left them. But she could not bring them back. So she had done the next best thing. 

“Long may it remain so,” she told Cole darkly, rising to her feet to return to the main party. 

No, you could never go back to stay. But a visit wreathed in flames and fury, retribution for the injustice done in her wake ... she’d done that. They had taken everything from her with their foolish fears and small-minded cruelty. She had given them ... peace.

 _Home_ was for children, families, love. What she had now would just have to do.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Resfeber - thrill felt before an adventure

Now _this_ was an adventure. 

Battles and magic and cleaning up everyone else’s mess was all in a day’s work for the Inquisition. Talasa had been doing it for twenty years. All right, so she had been _paid_ to do it as a mercenary, and as yet no one had mentioned any kind of remuneration for her role as Inquisitor, but the basic premise was the same. If you wanted something set on fire or hit repeatedly until it gave in, she was your girl.

But the Winter Palace ... that was a whole different kettle of fish. Oh, they expected that there would be fighting at some point, with an assassin on the loose, but the prospect of an adventure among silks and velvets, surrounded by nobles, _invited_ into the heart of the Imperial Court ... She couldn’t help the thrill that passed through her at the very thought of it. 

Her, Talasa Adaar, talking to the Empress, to nobles, entering at the side of a Grand Duke! She had heard so many stories about the Winter Palace; of the luxury, of the sumptuous foods, of the fine lords and ladies that frequented it. Of the Empress, with her haughty stance and regal air, her beauty hidden behind a mask that glimmered with gold, disguising the steel in her heart. Shokrakar would tie her strides in knots when she heard that timid Talasa had visited the Imperial Court.

And now it loomed above her, gently lit with many candles, the buzz of noble conversation filtering out toward her from behind gates that slowly swung back to welcome the Inquisition party. Talasa straightened her shoulders, excitement and pleasure warring in her eyes. _This_ would be a night to remember.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apricity - the warmth of the sun in the winter

“Why are you skulking up here, darling?”

Talasa glanced up at the familiarly smooth tones of Madam De Fer, barely shifting from her lean against the stone balustrade as she swung her gaze back to the garden below. 

“Just thinking, Vivienne,” she answered quietly.

The First Enchanter studied her for a moment, one hip finding an elegant lean of her own against the tall balustrade beside the tall Qunari Inquisitor bent almost double to lean there. 

“Do stand up straight, dear,” she said absently. “Such slouching does nothing for your posture overall.”

“I could say I’m stretching my back?” Talasa suggested, but did as she was told. 

She always did as she was told when Vivienne was the one doing the telling. There was something about the human mage that demanded obedience. It wasn’t _intimidating_ , exactly - when you’re almost seven foot tall and a mage to boot, it’s very hard to find most things intimidating from a natural standpoint - but Vivienne could always make her feel small. She wasn’t sure she liked it. 

The mage smiled her rare smile, dismissing Talasa’s suggestion with nothing more than that, and returned to her careful study of the Qunari’s face.

“The Winter Palace was not kind to you, my dear.”

Talasa’s shoulders sagged. She had been _so_ looking forward to Halamshiral, to mingling with nobles and gentry and fighting without the need for weapons for once. But no ... the air had been filled with venom, and most of it aimed directly at her. Whispers had followed her everywhere - _oxman, savage, beast_ \- even from those with whom she had spoken and proved herself far beyond their bigoted view. The Empress had looked at her like a bug to be squashed, a disgusting invader that had to be removed from her presence. She couldn’t bring herself to regret that she had let Florianne’s knife fall, though she knew the court most certainly saw it as a failure on her part. But Gaspard had, at least, been polite and kind in his attentions to her, spoken to her as an equal, hadn’t drawn attention to the fact that she was a Qunari. No doubt they all thought she was a fool, but he was their problem now. 

“The Imperial Court is not welcoming to anyone who does not _fit_ , Talasa,” Vivienne went on, her tone almost gentle as she spoke. “As formidable and beautiful as you are, they were never going to accept you as one of their own. Celene was weak. Gaspard may prove just as weak, but in different ways. Their opinion is small-minded and foolish. _You_ acquitted yourself remarkably well.”

Talasa blinked, her head turning toward the mage in amazement. Vivienne’s rare smile made another appearance. 

“You did well, my dear,” she said, clarifying her statement with obvious approval. “I am very proud of you.”

And despite herself, despite the lingering annoyance and upset at her treatment in the palace, Talasa felt herself smile. If _Vivienne_ approved of her ... then she didn’t do too badly, after all.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Messaline - soft lightweight silk with a satin weave

“Phwoar ...”

Sera’s filthy, appreciative laugh echoed across the courtyard of Skyhold, drawing more than one eye toward the mischievous Red Jenny. And, of course, thanks to her open ogling, those eyes then turned toward Talasa, who could feel her entire head heating up to boiling point before the blush started to pour downward.

And the reason for the filthy giggle, the ogling, and the blush? Gifts from the Qun.

The antaam-saar _was_ gorgeous. Light silk and satin woven together in a soft weave of rich teal cloth that hugged her breasts and tied low at her back; another piece that hung like a stylized loin-cloth in front and behind at her waist. Red silk cord knotted intricately across her chest and back, around her arms, about her waist, bearing with it the enchantments that made this brief adornment armor. She’d outright refused to wear it just as it was, adding her own leather pants and boots to the ensemble for the sake of her modesty if nothing else. She felt completely exposed; back, shoulders, arms, stomach bare to the world and the curious, appreciative glances of those who looked her way. It _was_ beautiful. But it was _very_ Qunari, and unlike anything she had never worn before. 

Josephine had _insisted_ that she wear the antaam-saar for their cooperative mission with the Qunari, bringing the full force of her diplomatic mind to bear on the problem of convincing the shy Inquisitor that this was something she _had_ to do. In the end, the Antivan ambassador had threatened to hide every other scrap of clothing Talasa owned before the Inquisitor reluctantly agreed to work out how to put the thing on. She was actually on her way to the Herald’s Rest, to ask Bull if she’d done it right, when Sera’s laugh had drawn too much attention to her. 

She hesitated, half-convinced that she should just go back to her rooms and change ... and the door in front of her opened.

_Maker’s danglies, could this get **any** worse?_

Because there, right in front of her, was Krem. Krem, with his shy smile and warm friendship. Krem, always ready with an encouraging word or look when she felt too out of place in the tavern. Krem ... staring directly at her silk-covered breasts with wide eyes. _Hungry_ eyes that set a little flame to flickering somewhere deep inside her. 

He didn’t stare for long, snapping his gaze up to her flaming face.

“Your Worship, I ...” 

He faltered, shaking out his hands to roll his shoulders as he always did when he was looking for the right thing to say. Then he grinned up at her, tipping her a wink that was so much more embarrassing and enticing than any amount of wicked giggles from the level above them. 

“Looking good.”

He nodded, stepping aside to let her duck into the tavern and out of the sight of _most_ of Skyhold, listening to the encouraging compliment of Iron Bull’s greeting on seeing her kitted out in the Qun’s gift. She _didn’t_ see Krem’s eyes linger on her back, on the scars that curved over her ribs and disappeared under the tuck of the silk at her hips, or hear the nervous clearing of his throat before he slipped out, unwilling to stand and stare at her too obviously for too long. 

But she _felt_ it, a small smile of her own playing about her lips. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Psithurism - the sound of wind rustling leaves

Flames erupted into the air, spraying debris from the destroyed dreadnought across the shore below. Beside her, Iron Bull let out a heavy sigh. He swore, and turned away, leaving Talasa to her thoughts. She knew she should move on with him, knew that the Venatori would not take long in mustering the strength to probe this hill. If she was still here when they tried it, she’d be dead. But there was a lingering doubt, as the rain lashed at her, as the wind rustled in the trees at her back. 

Had she done the right thing? Throwing away an offer of alliance with the Qun was not to be done lightly. Throwing away any connection with the Qun would have consequences, as her parents had known well and taught her in their own turn. For Bull, those consequences were real and intimate, the decision not even made by him. _Why_ had he left it to her to decide if he should remain Qun or become Tal Vashoth? Why had he made _her_ decide if the alliance lived or died?

Her eyes strayed to the hill across from her, to the Venatori picking over their dead. If she had chosen otherwise, those same Venatori would be picking over the Chargers’ lifeless bodies. Her fists clenched at the thought, her mind conjuring images of Dalish, Rocky, Grim ... _Krem_. 

She almost physically reeled back from that mental image, of those eyes open and lifeless, that body stained with blood, that voice silenced forever. And she knew she _had_ made the right decision. Let Gatt complain and threaten, let Bull resent her. The Chargers and their lieutenant were more important than any alliance with a people who wanted the world to conform to their notion of order. 

The wind shook the trees, raising the rustle to a roar as she turned her back on the forsaken beach and its burning remnants of an alliance she had never truly wanted. The Qun could whistle for their Hissrad and their hope of bringing the Qunari Inquisitor to heal. Iron Bull was his own person, and she would _never_ be shackled again. 

Here and now, they were _alive_. And as she approached the rendezvous, and saw for herself the Chargers, winded but living - saw Krem straighten up and look at her with warm approval, quiet appreciation - she felt a knot unravel in her heart. 

Demands of the Qun be damned. She would _not_ trade lives for their vanity.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lapidoso - full of stones, said of roads or of the bottom of a river

“Tal Va-fucking-shoth.”

Talasa’s head snapped around, bright eyes blazing with sudden fury. Between the anxiety over negating the alliance, the worry over whether or not she had made the right decision, the shock of Bull being attacked in front of her, and now this whining, self-pitying garbage he was spouting ... She focused that gaze onto Iron Bull who, unusually for him, actually took a step back. 

“How _dare_ you still say that?” she growled at him. “By all means, _do_ continue to tell me how I’m not Qunari, how I’ll never be Qunari - continue to imply that I am somehow less than you for having been born and lived outside the Qun. Why should you be any different? The humans don’t accept me and mine, why in the Void should you? But you don’t get to say things like that to me any more.”

“How dare _I?”_ Bull snarled back at her. “I just gave up everything I ever knew because of you -”

“You _didn’t_ make that decision,” she snapped back, fire crackling in her gaze. “You didn’t even _try_ to make that decision. You left it to me, and I think I know why. It’s so you never have to take responsibility for walking away from the Qun, isn’t it? It’s so you can forever blame _me_ for the fact that _you_ weren’t man enough to stand up to them and save the lives of the people you care about rather than follow your fucking orders!”

“Now you listen to me, _little girl_ ,” the bigger Qunari growled back at her, matching her anger with his own. “What do you know about any of this? You with your family childhood, your happy memories of parents, your life lived without knowing the comfort and security of the Qun - you _don’t_ know what I’ve given up, what I’m risking letting you make that decision for me.”

“Risking what?” she scoffed, shaking her head. “Oh, no, wait, I know. Without the Qun, we’re all just murdering savages, except for the Vashoth you deign to acknowledge aren’t. You know what, Bull? _You’re_ not any better than I am, you’re _certainly_ not better than my parents were. You’ve been a Tal Vashoth for years, whether you admitted it or not. And if you _ever_ play that self-pitying crap in front of me again, you’ll get an abject lesson in why it’s a really stupid idea to piss off a mage.”

She whirled away, leaving him to stew in his own temper even as she steamed. How many months had gone by, with him constantly implying that she and those like her would never be as good as his precious Qun, when he was living his life as a Tal Vashoth and clinging to the _idea_ of the Qun without following its edicts? And then to expect her to comfort him when he insulted her being, her parents’ choice, in the same breath? She would not stand for it. She had taken a _lot_ from the Iron Bull since he’d joined the Inquisition; she was not taking anymore.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liberosis - the desire to care less about things

“Why did he have to say that? If he hadn’t said that, _I_ wouldn’t have said what I said either.”

Talasa turned slightly unfocused eyes onto Varric, sniffling in an attempt not to start crying again. The poor dwarf had been through enough emotional Qunari mage for one evening, made worse by the fact that she had planted herself on the floor next to his chosen fireplace and outright _refused_ to move, even when people started to notice that the Inquisitor was having something of a breakdown.

“Why do I care that I upset him?” she demanded, waving one hand wildly. “ _I’m_ upset, _he_ upset _me!_ He should be the one blubbering and getting drunk and making an _idiot_ of himself because of it!”

Varric leaned an elbow on the table, looking down at his weepy friend. “Yeah, well, Tiny’s not going to admit he did wrong,” he said mildly. “And you’re not going to either.”

“I should,” she countered. “I shouldn’t have been so harsh -”

“Embers, you _weren’t_ harsh,” Varric told her firmly. “You kind of exploded a little, but that’s understandable. You’re the one holding the whole damned Inquisition up. Tiny can cut you some slack and apologize when he realizes you’re hurting.”

“M’not hurting,” she lied, holding out her empty cup. 

Varric sighed and poured a short measure of mead into the bottom of it. Talasa frowned at the amount, but didn’t argue, cradling the cup between her large hands as she drew her knees up to her chest. It never ceased to amaze Varric how _small_ she could make herself seem, especially when she was tied up in knots about something. 

“You care way too much about some things, sweetheart,” he said in a gentle voice. 

She sniffed, and he realized she was crying again, scowling through her tears as she dashed the moisture from her face. He moved a little closer, and she rested her head against his stomach, appreciating the awkward hand he patted against the back of her head. 

“I’m not a savage,” she whispered. “ _He’s_ not going to be become a savage just because he’s a Tal Vashoth officially. I wish I hadn’t argued with him.” She squeezed her eyes shut, turning her face against Varric’s tunic. “I wish it didn’t hurt so much.”

“Oh, sweetheart ...” 

Varric winced, gently hugging her head against his stomach. She’d be fine in the morning - a little awkward, a little shy, a little ashamed of herself perhaps. But when she finally went off to bed, he was going to have a _word_ with Iron Bull. Talasa Adaar was carrying too much already. She didn’t need to burden herself with unnecessary pain because she finally expressed herself clearly for once.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cafune - the act of running your fingers through the hair of someone you love

“How the hell did we get _lice_ in Skyhold?”

“Shush your face, it’s all good.”

Talasa glanced up from where she was sitting, smirking at the sight of Blackwall being very carefully groomed by a surprisingly focused Sera. He _was_ very hairy; there was a lot of hair to treat, comb, and rinse. Fingers on the top of her head turned her own face forward once again as the metal comb dragged through the heavy length of _her_ hair, spreading the vinegar and embrium mixture evenly in an attempt to make sure that the lice would not live another day. Skinner had insisted on being allowed to treat the Inquisitor’s hair herself, apparently in an attempt to make up for what she thought had been a slightly antagonistic wrangle over who was buying the next round a couple of nights before. 

In front of Talasa, Krem sighed, tilting his head back to look up at her with a lopsided grin. He’d offered to let her treat _his_ hair while Skinner was busy on hers, and was apparently enjoying the sensation of her fingers running through the drying crop that topped his head. She felt the blush warm her cheeks, her lips curving in an answering smile as her fingertips rubbed through the chestnut warmth - testing the dampness, ostensibly, but in reality, just enjoying the sensation of his hair between her fingers, and the smile in his eyes looking up at her. 

Blackwall yelped suddenly, and that soft moment was broken as Sera dissolved into cackling laughter, holding her tweezers aloft triumphant.

“I got one!”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignipotent - presiding over fire

The heat rushed to meet them as the ancient doors swung open. Renn cursed, twisting as though to protect Valta from that influx of burning, suffocating flame-induced fever. Within the smoking flames that cloaked the wide cavernous space beyond, they could hear the shrieking of darkspawn, and knew that the fire was intentional, an attempt to frighten the intruders striking deep into the Deep Roads. 

But Dorian laughed; Varric snorted; even Cassandra smirked a little. If the darkspawn thought mere flame could stop the Inquisitor, they definitely had another thing coming. 

“How are your barriers today, Dorian?” Talasa asked calmly as the group stepped over the threshold, into the pulsing, drying heat that wanted to strip the breath from their bodies. 

“Good enough for the purpose, I assure you,” the Tevinter mage responded. She heard him turn to their dwarven guides. “Master Renn, Shaper Valta, if you would be so kind as to stand behind Varric and Cassandra, that would be marvelous.”

“A mage can’t hold out against shrieks and hurlocks alone,” Renn objected, but was quickly shushed by Valta, who appeared to have been paying slightly closer attention to their surfacer companions’ confidence. 

“I do not think this is something they are concerned with, Renn.”

Ahead of them, Talasa smiled to herself. It was rare indeed to encounter a situation in which she felt absolute confidence, to know that her instinct here and now was the right one, _and_ that her companions would be in no danger if she followed that instinct. Fire was her friend; it had been her constant companion since her teens, the first element to come at will when called, the only element that came at _need_ , without will to guide or shape it. She did not fear fire. 

“Whenever you are ready, Inquisitor.”

She glanced over her shoulder, nodding to Dorian in acknowledgement. Dark shapes were becoming known in the smoking brightness around them, but still she walked on, heedless of the sparks that touched her bared skin. As the shrieks grew louder, she closed her eyes, twisting her palms outward just enough to invite the fire to come to her. 

And it did.

Answering the call of a mage who knew it intimately, the burning flames danced toward her, searing any creature in their path, swirling into a gathering storm around the tall figure that called to it. More and more flame was sucked into that swirling, crackling mass, concealing Talasa from her companions’ view, plunging the howling cavern into a darkness of burning agony, humming with the death cries of the darkspawn caught in the inferno’s path. Flames licked over her skin, through her hair, never burning, never harming, warming her gently as she formed it into a dense wall about herself. She knew that other darkspawn would be emerging from their hiding places, curious about whatever put their fire out. Just a few moments longer ... _Ah_.

She flexed her will, and a ripple of dark blue flame passed through the orange and red that surrounded her. She felt the answering surge of Dorian’s will as he raised his barrier about the group standing in the doorway. And she _released_ the fire.

It swept away from her, a rushing conflagration, hungry for food to fan its flame, forced outward with more power than it had held when first it came to her. Darkspawn in its path had barely a moment to draw a breath before they were nothing more than crumbling bone and ash, so much cinders to taint the air. Some smarter spawn turned to run, but were overtaken by the reaching, rushing, scorching flames. 

And then ... darkness.

Light slowly returned, torches reigniting in the wake of that wall of flaming death to spill light across the cleared cavern. Talasa sank onto one knee, shaking from the effort she had expended. A gloved hand touched her shoulder - Cassandra, making sure she was still with them. She nodded to the Seeker, using her staff to pull herself upright, shivering as Dorian discreetly poured a little of his own mana into her to bolster what she had given up to clear the cavern ahead. Varric was already moving to scout ahead, Renn trailing along in his wake in something of a shocked stupor. 

Valta looked speculatively at the Qunari Inquisitor. “You are full of surprises, Inquisitor.”

Talasa smiled, shaking her head. “Fire is my friend, Shaper Valta,” she answered. “It has never let me down. But I don’t generally have any opportunity to do _that_ on the surface.”

“It was very impressive,” Valta assured her, glancing ahead through the now clean gloom to where Renn and Varric were waiting. “We should continue. The song is still calling us downward.”

She hurried off, and it was Dorian’s turn to gently touch Talasa’s arm.

 _“Are_ you all right?” he asked quietly. “That was rather more spectacular than I was expecting.”

She patted his hand, letting herself laugh. “I’m fine, Dorian,” she promised him. “Just ... don’t tell Cullen or Barris how easily I can do that, all right?”

The Tevinter mage chuckled, nodding to her. “My lips are sealed, my lady.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Balter - to dance gracelessly, but with enjoyment

The lute played, Maryden’s voice rose, and Talasa was _dancing_.

Not the stilted, formal nonsense she had been forced to learn for the Winter Palace. Not the graceful movements of a woman made for dancing. Not even the rhythmic ritual of a person raised in a culture that lauded music and dance. No, she had all the grace of a druffalo, and all the musical talent of a nuggalope, but she was _enjoying_ herself. That was all that mattered. 

Let the nobles in the Great Hall cluck and fuss about her absence - they’d had her for most of the evening, and no doubt they were enjoying mocking her appearance while she was not there to overhear them. Josephine had insisted on the dress tonight, this clinging, draping softness of silks and satins that covered her modestly and yet left her feeling strangely exposed. Still, it was better than _some_ of the gowns Vivienne had tried to get her into.

Hands found their way to her hips as she swayed to the beat of Maryden’s music - warm, strong hands resting there with a confidence that almost took her breath away. Krem grinned up at her momentary falter, gently pushing to guide her dancing toward a better rhythm, ignoring the cheering encouragement rising from the Chargers as they noted their lieutenant _finally_ making his move. Eyes bright, heart in her throat, Talasa dared to let her own hands find a place to rest on him, careful to be gentle in her touch, terrified of somehow hurting him without ever meaning to. In answer, he eased closer as the music softened and slowed, smoothing his callused hands to her back, keeping his warm eyes on her face despite the very obvious distraction directly in front of him. 

“We should dance more often,” she breathed, blushing under the curiosity of so many eyes glancing their way.

Krem chuckled, the press of his fingers flexing tighter for just a moment against her back. 

“We haven’t started yet.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Verklempt - completely and utterly overcome with emotion

A warm callused hand smoothed against her bare side ... and Talasa felt herself panic. No one had ever touched her like this with noble intentions, no one had ever felt her skin without demanding more than she was ready to give. The world was hazily warm with liquor and lust, but still the panic rippled through her.

And the hand gently retreated, the hot mouth she had spent so many dreams on pressing a tender kiss to her shoulder. 

“Easy, Tal,” Krem murmured to her. “Last thing I want is to hurt you.”

He’d felt her shudder, her tension, tasted her fear in the air ... and he gave her space without leaving her side. Talasa let out a shaking breath, sinking down onto a barrel at the base of the thick tower wall, feeling an idiot for her suspicious reaction to the affection of someone she was halfway to loving.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, her mouth opening to pour out excuses and justification, the words stilling as he touched her lips with one finger.

“It’s your body, Tal,” he reminded her gently. “I know you don’t have much control over anything else, but this is _your_ body. What you do with it, who you choose to share it with ... it’s _your_ decision.”

“It isn’t that I don’t want to, Krem, I just ...”

Krem’s head tilted, his smile lopsided with understanding as he leaned against the wall beside where she sat. 

“Never really had the choice, have you?” he asked quietly. “Doesn’t count against you, you know. If you want this, with me, we’ll take it slow. There’s more to this than bodies, right?”

Her head snapped up, mortified that he even had to ask. “Yes! Yes, of _course_ there is,” she protested. “I wouldn’t ... I didn’t mean ...”

Krem chuckled, waving her into silence again. “Just checking, Your Worship.”

Talasa narrowed her eyes at his teasing smile. “Don’t call me that.”

“What’ll you do if I don’t?” he countered, eyes sparkling in the moonlit shadows.

“If you _don’t_ call me ‘worship’?”

Talasa reached up, the confidence that had evaded her just moments before flooding through her limbs, reassured by the easy way he had stepped back and allowed her the time to calm herself. Her fingers tugged at shoulder and collar, pulling him toward her to claim his lips. Surprised when he pulled her up onto her feet, gasping into his kiss as his hands claimed her backside, stroked up along her spine, turned her until she was pressed back against the cool stone, and still kissed her like a drowning man gulps water. 

The shock and fear was gone, melted to nothing in the arms of this man, who teased and nipped and laughed with her in the moonlit shadows of the courtyard. Not bad for their first dance.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cruore - it literally means “flowing blood”

Too much blood. 

Talasa pressed her palm into the open wound in Cassandra’s side, the other hand covering the Seeker’s mouth to stifle the groan of pain that came from the human woman in response. Hidden here, in the bushes, they were only seconds from discovery by giants, brontos, red templar horrors ... too many enemies, and no allies in easy range. Dorian and Blackwall had been cut off from them, last seen running at speed in the direction of the stream that formed a sort of boundary between this part of the Graves and the rest, taking the healing potions with them. 

And Cassandra was injured. 

Talasa gently pulled her hand from the Seeker’s mouth, turning her full attention to the wound under her other palm. A bronto’s horn could do terrible damage, and she didn’t know how to heal. She’d never learned, far more useful as an offensive mage. She couldn’t even cast a barrier. Yet here and now, she wish she had learned more of magic than simply how to kill with it. For the first time in her life she was totally useless. And her friend was dying before her eyes.

Cassandra’s gloved hand closed over her wrist.

“You should ... run for safety,” the woman told her weakly. “It is not ... not safe here ...”

“I’m not leaving you,” Talasa hissed. “Just because you wanted me dead for about an hour six months ago does _not_ mean you’re allowed to die on me now.”

The Seeker huffed out a weak laugh. “And you say ... _I’m_ stubborn.”

“I’m not stubborn enough,” Talasa muttered. 

No, not anywhere _near_ stubborn enough. If she’d been stubborn enough, she would have learned more than death by magic. If she’d been stubborn enough, she would have convinced Cassandra not to push into the giants’ territory in the first place. If she’d been stubborn enough, she wouldn’t be crouched in a spiky bush, watching a friend die because of her own useless inability to ... to ...

The rush of mana startled her, surging from her core to pour into the wound under her hand. Cassandra gasped aloud, her body arching as flesh knitted and blood flowed, renewing itself, bringing life back to tissues that should have already died without it. Talasa thumped backward onto her rear end as the mana died, feeling the weariness of a successful spell completed seep into her muscles, staring at her hands in amazed disbelief. Cassandra heaved herself up onto her elbows, a newly flushed face looking down at the smooth, unblemished skin that showed beneath the rent in her plate and chain. She raised a brow, looking over at the Inquisitor. 

“I take it back,” she murmured weakly. “You’re just stubborn enough, it would seem.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcid - incredibly exhausted

“Let me sing of heroes and honor lost and found, of monsters and men in all forms ...”

Flames crackled in the hearth, the flickering warmth of bright fire dancing to lend comforting shadows to this private corner of Skyhold, hidden away from eyes both curious and kind. Weariness that seeped into the bones after long days on the road gently coddled by the tenderness of familiarity, wrapped in soft blankets, fed good food, held in good company.

Talasa sat on the floor of Krem’s little room in the tavern, her head resting against his knee, his fingers in her loose hair, as he read to her from a book he had obtained from Dorian’s little corner of the library. Legends and tales of Ferelden, stories of heroes and monsters, the tales that shaped the people of that country from the inside out. But she wasn’t truly listening to the words. No, it was the voice that lulled her, the quiet cadence she knew so well reassuring her with every word that she was safe, she was home, she could finally let her guard down once again. 

“Krem?”

His voice faltered in the recitation, fingers never stilling their gentle cast through the softness of her hair. 

“Mmm?”

“Do you mind, at all?” she murmured curiously, fatigue lending a slur to her words. “Me being so big?”

She didn’t need to see his face to know he was smiling. The whole feeling of the room changed, or perhaps just her own feeling changed, so attuned to him as she was. She felt him shift, bend down to kiss the broken stub of her horns affectionately. 

“More of you to love, Tal,” he whispered. “I think I got the best of the bargain there.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Temerate - to break a bond or promise

He really was adorable when he slept.

Talasa smiled to herself as she cuddled closer to Krem, feeling his fingers tighten on hers even as he slept, pulling her arm closer about his waist as she molded herself to his back. Her lips brushed the exposed line of his neck, and he grumbled in his sleep, a softly inviting sound that made her giggle quietly into his shoulder. 

Arishkaar would be horrified with her, she knew. The old mage, a former saarebas of the Qun, an old friend of her parents who had taken her under his wing when her magic manifested and taught her enough to be able to avenge them and make herself useful to a merc company ... he had still adhered to many of the Qun’s edicts and rules, afraid of becoming a savage as many Tal Vashoth did. One of the rules he had enforced upon her was to guard her heart and make no attachments beyond friendship. She had promised him faithfully at the age of seventeen that she would never fall in love, certain in the wake of her parents’ deaths that she would never find anything to love in anyone else who was alive. 

Yet here she was, curled up against a man who loved her. A man _she_ loved, with all the fierce joy of her heart.

She had not yet said the words, almost afraid to speak them aloud, but Krem seemed to understand. He understood a lot of her silences. He could read her like no one else - he knew which quality of her silence meant what, without ever having done more than watch her. He had been patient with her awkward fumbling questions, when she had wanted to understand without giving offense and had structured questions so carefully that they lost all meaning in the speaking of them. She had let him be wary and concerned only long enough to realize what was causing it, surprised that anyone would think less of him for being himself but understanding better than many how cruel humans could be to those they considered different. 

Yet it was their differences that bound them together, man and woman, human and Qunari, mercenary and Inquisitor. She loved his calm confidence, his easy humor, his fearless sharing of that softer side that had spread winged nugs all over the refugee camps over the last few months. He seemed to love her shyness, her swiftness to defend and protect those she loved, the strength she displayed when people needed her to be strong. But whatever it was they found in each other, _love_ was what had blossomed there. 

Arishkaar would be revolving in his grave at the breaking of her solemn promise. And Talasa did not care.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sweven - a vision or dream

_“They will never accept you.”_

Talasa stiffened as the voice echoed through her mind, her step faltering. Beside her, Hawke paused, her face tilting toward the Inquisitor with recognition of what was happening. But where everyone else had been taunted out loud ... the Nightmare’s taunts now were purely in Talasa’s mind.

_“They fear you, the great ox-woman, the mage who mastered fire.”_

Now the others were pausing too, returning to where she stood motionless, ankle-deep in Fade-water. Varric caught Hawke’s eye in concern; Cassandra’s frown deepened; Dorian glared in the green-shaded gloom around them. Even Loghain seemed to bristle on her behalf. 

_“He does not love you. How could he love you? You are a freak, a monster, a horned beast that cannot rouse true affection in even the softest of hearts.”_

Talasa’s head snapped up, her cheeks coloring with anger and hurt.

“Leave her alone, demon,” Hawke declared into the thrumming silence. “Whatever you say is a lie.”

“It’s a _lie_ , Embers,” Varric repeated urgently, nudging Talasa’s thigh. “It wants you running scared.”

Talasa swallowed, trying to fight the prickle of tears. The demon was saying nothing she had not told herself over the past months, all the old insecurities becoming weapons in the claws that wrapped the raw Fade around them. In a way, it was truth, though stolen from the unkindness of her own mind. In time, she would be abandoned. She was always ready for it. 

_“You will let them all down. They will die screaming, cursing your name for your failure.”_

She shuddered, closing her eyes as she seemed to sag, curling in on herself as gentle panic rippled through her companions. They looked at one another helplessly, unable to hear what was being said, unable to refute it accurately. Cassandra reached out, one gloved hand closing about Talasa’s bicep.

“You are our Inquisitor,” she began, but Dorian interrupted her. 

“You are our _friend_ ,” he said, and Cassandra nodded fervently. “Don’t worry, we’re here. We’ll protect you.”

Talasa’s eyes opened, focusing on Dorian’s gaze. _We’ll protect you_. That first promise he had made to her, when they had not known one another at all, when he had been as terrified and lost in the darkness of a future unknown as she had been. And now he _was_ her friend; they all were. Cassandra had taught her to read, and to enjoy reading; Varric had taught her to find ways to laugh at life; Dorian had taught her to be brave in the face of so much judgment. She hoped she gave them something worthwhile in return. 

She straightened her shoulders, forcing the Nightmare from her mind.

“And I’ll protect you,” she promised in turn, nodding to the worried faces around her. She hefted her staff. “Come on. Not far now.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petrichor - the pleasant smell that accompanies the first rain after a long period of dry weather

“Smooth Krem-inal. Go deal with that, would you?”

Krem followed the gesture of The Iron Bull’s thumb toward the edge of the camp, where a tall figure was pacing in agitation. His brow furrowed in concern. It wasn’t like Talasa to be so obviously upset, so openly struggling with what she was feeling. He could _feel_ the distress radiating off her, a crackling heat to the unseen senses in the midst of the closeness that heralded rain soon to fall on the desert around them. 

Ignoring the Chief’s knowing smirk, he discarded his weapons and headed in that direction, passing the sentries with a nod. Talasa barely glanced up as he took up a lean against the nearest wind-scoured rock, marking the groove she had tracked into the sand with her pacing. But he didn’t need her to say anything. He knew her by now - he knew that the traumas of the Fade, of the Nightmare and it’s taunts, were already a fading memory. What was agitating her now was the decision she thought she had made. 

“If you spin fast enough, you might find yourself drilling for water,” he commented as she turned yet again to retrace her steps. 

Talasa stopped abruptly, her flailing hands moving to wrap her arms about herself as she drew in a shuddering breath.

“Varric’s never going to forgive me.”

“Sure he will,” Krem said easily. “He knew his friend. Don’t think he doesn’t know Hawke would have stayed behind anyway.”

“ _I_ should have stayed,” she breathed, sinking down onto her knees. “It was _my_ problem. The Inquisitor is supposed to fix these things!”

“Tal, don’t say that.” 

Krem pushed out of his lean, moving to lay his hand gently against the back of her head, combing his fingers into the loose tug of the braids that fell against her shoulders. He felt her shudder, felt her sag toward him, bracing himself to take the weight of her lean against his thigh.

“For what it’s worth, you made the same choice I would’ve,” he told her quietly. “Wasn’t a choice between two people; the choice was between the Grey Wardens, and a folk hero. Here and now, with more Blights to come, Grey Wardens are more important than living legends. Varric’ll understand.”

She was shaking, her arm snaking around the back of his knee to hug his leg as she pressed her face into the leather of his pants. Krem _really_ hoped no one was watching them - she didn’t deserve to be whispered about because she had a very childlike need to be looked after when she was upset. 

“C’mon, Tal,” he said then, gently shifting his thigh in her grasp. “Enough. You did what had to be done, everyone knows it was a hard choice. Stop beating yourself up over it.”

“But I -”

_“No.”_

He reached down, tucking his fingers under her chin to lift her face just as the rain began to fall, sweetening the musty air with the fresh scent of water on dry dust.

“We need you,” he told her firmly. “ _I_ need you. Don’t go where I can’t follow, Tal.”

Drawing a gentle finger along her damp cheek, he bent to kiss her forehead. 

“You are so much more than _just_ the Inquisitor to me.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basorexia - the overwhelming desire to kiss

“You-mm ... you know ‘m ... _Tal_ ... I’m s’posed to be ...”

Talasa giggled against Krem’s lips, refusing to give up her kisses. He wasn’t pulling away, not at all ... his hands were roaming just as hers were; gentle touches that claimed and possessed without making a mockery of the free will of both, each one consumed with the kisses they shared, the desire to kiss and be kissed. 

To hell with the morning duties, the training and work and busy-ness of the day ahead. They’d dressed, wasn’t that enough? Talasa had never indulged herself so much, never realized that Krem was just as susceptible to that desire to kiss that plagued her whenever she saw him. She could feel his grin against her lips, her own answering even as lips pressed tighter, as hands skimmed closer. 

_“KREM!”_

Iron Bull’s bellow even reached them, up on the balcony of the Inquisitor’s quarters. Krem snorted with laughter, peeling away from his armful of Qunari lover. 

“He’s going to beat me blue,” he lamented in amusement. 

Talasa winked at him. “I’ll kiss it better for you.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whelve - to bury something deep, to hide; or to roll or surge over something

_“... nothing more than a beast.”_

_“Oh, indeed. They must chain her up at night to prevent incidents.”_

_“I have heard that the commander feeds her raw meat by hand.”_

_“And the Nightingale must sing to calm her? Yes, I have heard that too.”_

Talasa met Leliana’s gaze over the heads of the nobles currently standing in her way and apparently completely unaware of who they were impeding. The spymaster was frowning at the gossiping group, concern flickering in her eyes as she caught Talasa’s expression. But nothing was going to upset Talasa’s mood today. 

“Have you heard the one where I go into a blood rage if someone annoys me, and the only way to stop it is to sacrifice a virgin of royal blood and let me eat her brain?” she asked sweetly.

And _oh_ the sheer delight of seeing the color drain from what little of their faces she could see; witnessing the quiet horror of a group who had been sharing stories they didn’t _really_ believe but enjoyed repeating suddenly wrestle with the terrifying thought that they might not really be stories at all. She could see the whites of every pair of eyes looking up at her. 

“Or perhaps,” she suggested, “you could ... I don’t know ... _not_ repeat lies about me, in my home, in front of me. This could be a whole new experience for you, earning a reputation for discretion and moderation. Wouldn’t that be something? Good day, my lords, my ladies.”

She offered them her most pleasant smile, gently pushing a path between them to join Leliana, who was smirking outrageously at the silent conflict of outrage, shock, and shame the Inquisitor left in her wake. 

“Nicely done, Inquisitor."


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meriggiare - to rest at noon, more likely in a shady spot outdoors

“I really must protest ... this little adventure is far from comfortable.”

Talasa opened one eye, seeking out the complainant. Dorian was sitting by the stream, mournfully picking at a burst blister on his bare heel. She smiled to herself, not even attempting to move from her sprawl in the shade of the tree. Varric piped up.

“Maybe if you’d padded up the way the Seeker suggested, Sparkler, you wouldn’t be so blistered,” the dwarf suggested.

“That, my dear dwarf, is common sense,” Dorian declared, “and I would be _ashamed_ of myself if I had anything as common as sense.”

Varric snorted with laughter, tossing him the little pack of poultices and compresses to apply to his poor tootsies. Talasa closed her eye again, making the most of the opportunity to rest. They _had_ to get to the Arbor Wilds in good time, marching and riding for long hours through some tortuous weather both good and bad, and had finally reached the outer limits of the Wilds themselves. From here on in, they would be exclusively on foot, and Dorian already having a blister did not bode well. But an hour to rest in the shade before moving on was not to be sniffed at. Cassandra would be back and expecting them to be up and moving soon enough. 

Talasa sighed softly, wriggling her fingers in Dorian’s direction. She heard his gasp as the ice magic cooled the pain in his heel, could imagine the thoughtful smile as he glanced her way. He would be complaining again the moment they set off, but for now, this would do. A little peace before the storm was always a good thing.


	25. Chapter 25

“Talasa!”

She shook herself, dragging her gaze from the speeding darkspawn magister swooping toward them, glancing over her shoulder. Morrigan gestured, and the eluvian flickered to life. 

“Through the mirror,” she ordered, pushing Varric ahead of her. “Go - go!”

At her back she could feel Corypheus’ anger, his glaring eyes burning into her as she raced for the eluvian, barely aware of the water returning to the Well at her back. Panic stole her breath, brought pain to her chest ... and she was through, the flickering glass shattering mere seconds after she stumbled into the Crossroads. 

She bent, gasping for breath, letting the dizziness flow through her and ease away. 

Well, they’d beaten Corypheus again. Now what?


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arcuate - arched; bow-shaped

“You look so _serious.”  
_

Krem glanced at her face, a faint flicker of a smile touching his expression before his concentrated frown resumed, his attention returning to the sketch in his hands. Talasa sighed, subtly stretching out the gentle ache in her arched back. 

“Not long now, Tal.”

She grinned at him, not daring to move until he told her she could. It had taken a _lot_ of persuasion to convince her to pose for him, and even more to convince her that doing so nude was not inappropriate or brazen. After all, they had been naked together so many times already - if anything, lying here as he sketched her form was practically innocent when compared to the night before. How often did they have the opportunity to simply _waste_ a few hours like this? 

Yet there was something so _intimate_ about lying still, watching his fingers move with the charcoal imprisoned between them, feeling his gaze skate over her skin, tracing the arched curve of her back, her hips, transferring them to the paper in front of him. He saw every inch of her, all the scars and imperfections, and he recreated them lovingly, refusing to even consider leaving the skin of her sketched self unblemished. Every mark told a story, he’d said; _her_ story, and her story was one he was privileged to be a part of. 

“All right, I’m done.”

Relieved, she rose onto her knees, one hand clasping the sheet to her front, barely concealing her breasts before dipping between her thighs. Krem rubbed a hand through his hair as he stood, moving to the bed to show her the sketch he had created of her. He set one knee on the mattress, drawing his charcoal-dusted fingertips down the muscular line of her curving back. Talasa’s eyes met his, affectionate mischief illuminating her gaze. 

“Can I look at it later?” she asked innocently.

Krem tilted his head, curiosity touching his expression. “What are you planning?” he asked with fond suspicion, setting the sketch safely to one side. 

He let out a bark of laughter as she clasped him about the waist and pulled him down onto the bed with her, already tangling limbs and and sheets, her mouth ready and longing for kisses after an hour or more of being solely under his gaze. He chuckled, leaning over her as she all but purred to his touch. 

“I’ll have to draw you more often.”


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morituro - of someone who is next or destined to die

Shaking with pain, Talasa set the tip of her staff into the rock, heaving herself up onto her feet. Bolts flew past her shoulder to pierce the ragged shoulder of Corypheus, his torso laid open already by the slash and thrust of swords held by her allies. And still he fought on, without his dragon, without anything but his own self, staggering back as she limped toward him.

“What do they call you - a Qunari? Your blood is engorged with decay! You are not a race - you are a mistake!”

She let his bile flow past her, recognizing the terror for what it was - in her, he saw his death; his _true_ death, for he had no Grey Warden to possess, no dragon to guard the essence of himself. For the first time in centuries, he was mortal, vulnerable, and he had gone too far to beg for his life. He fumbled for the orb, tendrils of his own magic ensnaring it once more, forcing it to life.

But Solas had trained Talasa for this moment. 

_“The Anchor was created with the orb,”_ the elven mage had reminded her. _“You have a connection to it not even Corypheus can overcome. Use it.”_

Leaning heavily on her staff, her body aflame with pain from innumerable cuts and breaks, she raised the Anchor, willing it to life, reaching _through_ it toward the orb. Corypheus cursed as the artifact answered her, calling to his Old God ... but too late. The orb swept from his grasp into her hand, and she felt the rush of pure power flow through her. 

Above them, the Breach pulsed, threatening doom upon all the world once again. Talasa raised the orb, focusing her will. The power responded, piercing the clouds, sealing the wound in the Veil, denying the darkspawn magister his victory even in death. 

The orb fell to her feet, forgotten, her eyes focusing on her defeated foe. The Anchor crackled against her palm, pain and torment combining, strengthening her resolve. She reached out, closing that marked hand tight about Corypheus’ throat, ignoring his struggling pleas. 

“You wanted into the Fade? Be my guest.”

She flexed her fingers; the Anchor flared; Corypheus was no more. 

And the floating rocks of Haven ... _fell_.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noceur - one who stays up late

“Can’t sleep?”

Talasa smiled ruefully, shaking her head in agreement as Blackwall came out of his tent. Every inch of her was aching, _needing_ sleep to fully recover after being healed of her injuries, but she just couldn’t settle.

“It’s so strange,” she admitted softly. “I thought it would be easy to just settle. I mean, it’s all over now. I’ve done what I set out to do.”

“Ah, but what happens next?” Blackwall pointed out with a wry smile of his own, easing down beside her to poke at the fire. “It’s never so neat as all that.”

“I think that’s why I can’t sleep,” she confessed. “I think I’m afraid that, after all this, I’m still not going to be allowed to have what I want.”

His expression softened as he looked over at her. “First time I’ve heard you talk about what _you_ want,” he mused quietly. “From the day I met you, you’ve been about what everyone else needs you to do, what you should do to make their lives better, safer. Can’t deny I’m curious to know what it is _you_ want.”

She bit her lip, looking down into the smouldering embers. “I suppose it isn’t that important to anyone but me,” she admitted quietly. “I want a family of my own.”

Blackwall frowned curiously, but she knew exactly where his mind had gone. Her own frown warned him not to express that thought aloud. 

“There are so many children who have no parents, no family, because of all this chaos,” she went on, disappointed when his frown smoothed at her clarity. It would have been nice if he hadn’t doubted her ability to have children with Krem at all, but you couldn’t have everything. At least he had taken the unspoken warning and heeded it. “But would any of them want the terrifying ox-man Inquisitor for a mother?”

The former captain of Orlais shook his head. “You’re more than a bigot’s opinion, Talasa,” he told her firmly. “Any child would be lucky to have you love them. Krem’s a lucky man, too.”

She blushed, glancing down at her hands. “I love him.”

“Aye, I figured that.” Blackwall chuckled gently. “Anyone tries to deny you the reward you’re seeking, you send them to Josephine,” he suggested. “She’s itching to throw down with the next person to insult you - even more now you just saved the fucking world.”

“I didn’t do it alone,” she began, but he cut her off. 

“Wouldn’t have happened without you,” he said firmly. “Get used to it. You’re a hero, Inquisitor. A legend in your own lifetime, like the Hero of Ferelden. We’re just the lucky sods who get to call the woman behind the legend a friend.”

She huffed out a soft laugh, shaking her head gently against the prospect of being a legend. But he was right, she knew. After everything that had happened, everything she had survived, she was due more than a little respect from those who had thought nothing of her. Perhaps respect would translate into the life she wanted for herself, for her Krem. Perhaps not. But no one could take her accomplishment away from her. 

Blackwall was right - she’d saved the fucking world. The fucking world could give her what she wanted in return.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Selcouth - unfamiliar, rare, strange, and yet wonderful

“Papa! Papa, look!”

Krem raised his head, grinning at the sight of the little girl jumping up and down next to the lapping water to get his attention. It didn’t take anything more to get him moving, kneeling down next to her to see what had caught her attention. She wrapped an arm about his neck, pointing at the creature in the surf. 

“Look, he has an arm like Mama,” she declared.

Krem looked, and saw - the crab had clearly lost a fight not too long ago, one of its claws conspicuous by its absence. The left claw, too. It waved the remaining claw threateningly at the two humans looking down at it. 

“You’re right, love, he does,” he agreed with the little girl now leaning on him. “Doesn’t seem to bother him, does it?”

She shook her head, eyes bright above her smile. “Like Mama doesn’t,” she agreed. “Because Mama doesn’t need two hands to be Mama.”

He chuckled, hugging his little girl close for a moment. “You’re absolutely right, Ara.”

“Dare I ask what you two are up to?”

Krem rose to his feet, Ara’s hand caught in his, and turned as Talasa joined them, little Ronan balanced on her hip and held close with the curved prosthetic Grim had shyly presented them with when they had first adopted Ara years before. Despite the loss of her arm, he had never seen her happier or more content with life than the day she had first held Ara. Talasa had been _made_ to be a mother, the loving heart of her own family, and he was glad to know that Solas would likely not move against the rest of the world until her time was done. She would have her reward, her family, and the time in which to enjoy them. At least the Dread Wolf could give her that. 

“Just admiring the most beautiful woman in the world,” Krem answered her easily, his grin widening as his larger-than-life wife blushed prettily, making their daughter giggle at the silly sweetness between them. 

He reached down and took her hand, glancing out to where the sun was setting. Tomorrow was another day, and he might yet be called to duty. But tonight, he was right where he always wanted to be. 

“Let’s go home.”


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Astral - of or relating to the stars

**Codex entry: Astrological Event; Salva Manu**

Better known by its more prosaic names of The Sealed Breach and The Inquisitor’s Hand, Salva Manu is a relatively recent event in our skies, yet holds significance far beyond the beauty of the Fade Light that ripples across the night sky. A mark of remembrance, so long as it shines we will remember Divine Justinia’s tragic end and the unexpected hero who emerged from the destruction at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. In looking up at the dancing lights above the Frostbacks, we will remember Inquisitor Talasa Adaar, the Herald of Andraste, Liberator of the Grey Wardens, Friend to Mages, the Emperor’s Bane. We will remember the sacrifices she made for our safety and how, thanks to her befriending of a being from out of the mists of time, we were granted fifty long years of peace between the disbanding of the Inquisition and the rising of Fen’Harel. Yet those who knew her did not think of her as the fearsome Qunari of legend, the powerful mage who held back not one, but two threats to our lives in her own lifetime. They recall a woman as gentle as she was tall, as kind as she was powerful, as loving as she was loved. Her grandchildren still speak her name with reverence, and the name of their grandfather, the famed mercenary leader Cremisius Aclassi. In Talasa Adaar, we found a new focus for our belief, encouraged by Divine Victoria in her reforms. The Inquisitor’s legacy is all around us, watched over by Salva Manu - our savior’s hand.

\- From __An Updated Study of Thedosian Astronomy__ by Talisia Aclassi


End file.
